


love tastes good, you shoved it in my mouth

by actuallynotalex



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Drugs, Hand Feeding, Handcuffs, Kidnapping, M/M, Obsession, Sedation, yandere ish ????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallynotalex/pseuds/actuallynotalex
Summary: demi wakes up. barely. it’s more like he drifts into a different kind of consciousness - hazy and blind, eyes too heavy to open yet, the familiar twinge of blood in his mouth discordant to the soft hand pushing back his hair.[or: shrike finds the only way to keep demi safe.]





	love tastes good, you shoved it in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> this is. just an oc scene. because im insatiable i guess, and horny for weird kidnapping scenes
> 
> main context that matters: demi is a superhuman dude, who has regenerative properties that keep him alive unless he's too fucked up to focus. shrike cobalt is a dude who had a weird attachment to demi, which morphed into That Unhealthy Obsession. they have to flee a Threat, and in the chaos shrike takes the opportunity to kidnap demi and then this scene starts lmao.
> 
> content warnings: medical abuse/iv's; forced drugging via said iv; needles; kidnapping; non-consenting Touching And Proximity.
> 
> thanks <3

demi wakes up. barely. it’s more like he drifts into a different kind of consciousness - hazy and blind, eyes too heavy to open yet, the familiar twinge of blood in his mouth discordant to the soft hand pushing back his hair. but… who? he tries to move to see, but his vision is dark, his head at the mercy of the hands holding it up.

_who?_

the hands holding him notice his attempts to move, and there’s the soft huff of a laugh, close enough to feel the breath on his cheek. that’s enough to shudder demi’s instincts awake, and his eyes crawl open, bleary, dizzied.

first, he notices the darkness of the room. there’s one light, but he can’t see where - he only knows it exists because it’s casting the shoulder before him into shadow. the suggestion of the light halos around the greasy black hair pushed back over the shoulder, close to his face as the person’s head hovers just at the upper edge of demi’s peripheral vision. shrike. he’s straddling demi’s lap, carefully examining something demi can’t tell.

shrike’s fingers shift on his scalp, and with it comes a streak of pain. demi is too hazy to react - _i’m hurt?_ \- but shrike makes a small affirming hum, then finally settles back. the light is coming from a single bulb on a cord from the exposed ceiling; the piercing incandescence hurts demi’s unaccustomed eyes. his head is starting to throb, an ache behind his forehead. shrike finally meets demi’s eyes. pity. affection? like a man looking at his pet.

“demi, you’re awake,” shrike hums, letting his hand - touched with smears of blood, demi notices - fall to rest on demi’s thigh. “i missed you while you were out.”

hesitantly, demi tries to talk, but his throat is dry, and no sound escapes his cracked lips. shrike laughs and pulls himself to his feet. he smooths his hair back behind his shoulders - it’s mostly in a hurried ponytail, but strands appear to have been sliding loose. demi watches him glide over to a desk, then turns back after a moment, now holding a glass of water and what looks like a granola bar.

“i’m glad you’re up to eat,” shrike continues, settling himself casually onto demi’s lap again. he’s heavy and uncomfortable on demi’s legs, and it’s then that demi hazily understands why he can’t move. the uncomfortable rim of some sort of handcuffs is digging firmly into his wrists, and, beyond that, the familiar ache of an IV drip is pinching into his elbow. _not good._ demi turns his head - the motion dizzying and almost too fast, despite the fact that it’s almost definitely a pathetically slow gesture. he can see that he’s propped up against a wall, and he can see an IV line running along the wall from behind his back; the other end is on some kind of drip bag, rigged up on the post of a shelf. the room, from what demi can tell, is dimly lit and full of shelves, like a cellar.

shrike’s hand is suddenly on demi’s cheek, and it steers his gaze forwards again to meet shrike’s pitch dark eyes. 

“i said. i’m glad you’re up to eat, because i don’t have stuff for a food tube. i’m going to have to keep you awake every so often so you don’t starve.” shrike lets his fingers drop from demi’s cheek, and starts to peel open the granola bar, the glass of water resting on the floor. demi halfheartedly tries to move his hand, to reach for it, but he is certainly still restrained, and the effort alone makes him wince with nausea for a moment. shrike stops unwrapping the granola bar and shakes his head, watching demi’s attempts.

“stop it. you’re still mostly sedated, it’s no use,” shrike chides him. “alright. open! oh, maybe water first.”

shrike nestles the granola bar on demi’s bloodied shirt, then grabs the glass of water in one hand and demi’s chin in the other. he guides demi’s chin up, and slides the pad of his thumb onto his lower lip. 

“open, baby, you don’t have a choice,” shrike murmurs. the out-of-place pet name is hardly reassuring, and demi clenches his jaw shut in a semblance of protest. shrike furrows his eyebrows. “don’t make this harder than it needs to be, or you’re getting nothing.”

shrike hooks his thumb on demi’s lower lip and digs his nail into the tender skin between his lip and gums. it hurts - not enough, but noticeably - but demi does eventually let his mouth fall open, more because the effort of resisting shrike was getting to be too much. shrike smiles, shifting so his thumb is holding demi’s jaw open and his fingers are cupping his chin. carefully, he pours a tiny bit of water into demi’s open mouth, then pulls his thumb back and lets demi’s mouth close. demi feels the water trickle over his dry tongue and roll back into his throat, and he swallows gratefully. it feels good enough that, when shrike thumbs at his lip again, he opens his mouth for more without any resistance. 

when the glass is done, shrike sets it on the floor to his side. then he moves on to the granola bar; he pulls it out of the wrapping and breaks off a small piece, then holds it up in front of demi’s lips, like a mother trying to coerce her child into eating. but before he takes the food, demi manages to speak.

“where are we?” demi says, his voice coming out as barely a whisper. “cobalt, what… did you do?” 

shrike just smiles and hums, cupping demi’s cheek and bringing the granola bar chunk to his lips. “we’re safe, demi.” he pauses, and demi opens his mouth to prompt more, but shrike pushes the food in, and demi is distracted by the taste of food for the first time in… god knows how long. but it’s good. he eats, gratefully. shrike repeats the motions, feeding him bites before he can talk, and demi doesn’t push it, too distracted by the taste of food. as he swallows the last piece, shrike traces a path down demi’s throat with his fingertips. 

“i’m helping you. everyone’s looking for you, but i won’t let them have you. okay?” shrike explains, his voice low. demi turns his attention to him.

shrike’s stare is piercing, his eyes wide and black, and he’s sucking gently on one of his lip rings. his hair is greasy and slipping out of his ponytail, but he doesn’t seem to pay any mind - he’s fixated on demi, his hand resting on the soft curve at the base of demi’s throat. the heat of shrike’s skin feels like it’s leaching into demi’s bloodstream, suffocatingly warm, an unsettling kind of possessiveness. demi hesitates, caught by how _completely_ at shrike’s mercy he is. 

“...okay.”

shrike grins. he slides his hand around the back of demi’s neck for a moment, tangling in demi’s hair, and he leans in to hover inches above demi’s face. demi stills, watching, and shrike looks like a hunter appraising his prey. sizing him up. but more than that - appreciating his catch.

then shrike lets go and stands up, bringing the glass and granola bar wrapper with him. he starts to hum a song - the sound is doing weird things to demi’s foggy mind. demi watches, rolling his head to keep his eyes on shrike, as shrike rummages on another shelf for a minute.

“alright, baby, it’s time to go back under for a bit,” shrike says as he turns around. the all-too-familiar glint of a syringe catches demi’s eye, and he shakes his head numbly, his pulse throbbing in his head and along the likely wound on his scalp. 

“no,” demi grunts, trying to shift away, back himself up against the wall as much as he can, but it’s no use - his hands are bound _to_ something, and his legs are heavy and clumsy. shrike ‘tsk’s as he approaches, stepping over demi’s weakly kicking legs as if they were nothing. he leans down beside demi, and runs his hand down demi’s arm and along the IV tube. 

“cobalt. you can’t,” demi insists. he can see shrike find a point in the tube, an injection site, through his peripheral vision.

“shh, demi, you’ll be fine,” shrike purrs. demi hears plastic click together - the needle locking into the tube, the glide of the plunger pushing down to its base. shrike turns, then, to meet demi’s eyes. “i would never hurt you.”

 _a constant low dose sedative in the bag, a strong dose in the syringe_ , some part of demi tells him. _he’s keeping me immobile._ and of course, what that entails. he can’t fight. he can’t heal. it’s all he can do to hope shrike will keep to his word.

**Author's Note:**

> art of demi: https://lytiic.tumblr.com/post/157387121679/rip-apart-the-marrow-from-the-bone-of-the-liars  
> art of shrike: https://lytiic.tumblr.com/tagged/shrike-cobalt-tag
> 
> this is my first time posting original work anywhere so let me know what you think, dropping a kudos or comment (!) is super appreciated!!


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